Vote for Voldy!
by GinnyWazlibRocks
Summary: Out of context, our favorite and only Dark Lord is making an ambitions bid... to become President of the United States! Unfortunetly, our favorite and only Boy Who Lived isn't going to let Voldy into the Oval Office without a fight... The race is on!
1. The Scenic Route Prolouge

AN: Well, my beloved readers, it's the middle of August, and guess what? Ginny is back with her latest fic written under the influence of espresso and chocolate! Glad to have a new, completely off-topic, incredibly long prologue for you all… and hopefully you are too.

On a serious note:

Due to my respect for all readers, despite their individual beliefs, I have done my best to alter all issues and controversies so that they have no resemblance with the real world, to keep from offending. This fic is designed to make fun of us all, but if at anytime you find something severally offensive, please let me know. Thanks.

And now, on with the show! Enjoy!

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Lucius glanced out the window. On the curb sat a big white van with writing on it.

The Death Eater's thought process went like this:

_Van_

plus

_White_

plus

_Writing_

equals

_Ice Cream Truck!_

Obviously, this was Lucius's inner child thought process. Which ruled him like a Bolivarian dictator.

"Belatrix! Belatrix! It's the ice cream truck! Quick, if one of us runs outside, while the other one gets some money from Uncle Voldy, we can get iccccccccccccccccce creeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam!"

Belatrix was not amused.

"I'm lactose intolerant."

"But this is _iccccccccccccccccce creeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam_." Lucius persisted.

Belatrix glanced past the maturity-confused man to see what he was watching on TV.

"Okay," she said, striding over to the Ultra Jumbo Mumbo Plasma Pixel 108" Screen and looking around for the power button. "No more Teletubies for you."

"But Belllllllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…."

"_Don't_ call me that. Where's the off switch on this thing?"

Lucius giggled. "Don't got one," he said coyly, rocking back and forth on his heals.

Belatrix scowled, whipped out an axe, and lodged it firmly into the green Teletubie's freakish TV playing stomach.

The screen went black.

Clutching at his chest, Lucius sank to the ground. "No!" he gasped. "My non-stop programming… stopped!"

He convulsed on the floor for a minute or two, in which Belatrix debated yanking the axe out off the TV and using it to chop Lucius's head off (to keep him from injuring himself.) She decided against it, afraid that the television would come back to life should she remove the axe.

Instead she went to look out the window, to see if there actually was an ice cream truck.

What she saw made her gasp in horror.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Meanwhile, in the Lair O' Doom™…

"… _I kissed a girl, and I liked it, taste of her cherrryyyy chap stiiick…"_ sang Voldemort has he glued a sticker that had a picture of Avril on it to his laptop.

Bobbing his head to the beat, the Dark Lord sang in incredibly high octaves, eyes closed, back to the door, jamming his body to the beat while sitting in a chair.

"…_It felt soo wrong, it felt soo right…_"

Living in the moment, Voldemort grabbed his glue stick, held it up to his mouth, and standing, belted,

"_I KISSED A GIRL, JUST TO TRY IT, HOPE MY BOYFRIEND DON'T MIN-"_

"… Sir?"

The Dark Lord froze, mid-hip swing. His eyes flicking open were the only things that moved. His mouth was in a rather curious 'O' position.

Belatrix and Snape stood in the doorway.

"Um…" Belatrix said.

"Is this a bad time?" Snape asked.

There was moment of silence as Volemort's eyes switched back and forth, calculating how quickly he could kill the two.

Finally deciding that he'd have to touch the dead bodies, something that the Pimp'n Lord Voldemort just did not _do_, he relaxed, laughing awkwardly with a false smile.

"No no… ahahahaa…. Of _ course_ not, you silly little… um… _ahem_. Er. What can I do you for?''

"Bad news, sir." Belatrix said. "There's a van on the street-"

The Dark Lord's features went slack with joy. "You mean the _Ice Cream Truck_?!"

"NO!" Belatrix yelled while Snape took cover, armed with the knowledge that the Death Eater was having a bit of a bad day. "WHAT IS IT WITH MEN AND THEIR ICE CREAM TRUCKS?! _GOD_!"

She stormed out, steam rising visibly from her head.

Snape crawled out from behind the Plexiglas and muttered, "_**Some**__body_ got out on the wrong side of the bed this morning…"

"Hm," said Voldemort, tapping his chin, completely oblivious. "If it wasn't the _ice cream_ truck, what was it?"

"The IRS, sir."

"Oh #."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"You know," the Dark Lord complained loudly as the IRS officials began wheeling out all the possessions of Malfoy Manor. "I really don't like you guys."

"Nobody does." One of them replied gruffly, struggling the Ultra Jumbo Mumbo Plasma Pixel 108" Screen.

"I command you to stop taking our possessions."

"No can do," the officer replied. "You ain't the boss of me."

"Well that can be easily fixed. Ahem. Er. Who _is_ your boss, where _exactly _does he live, what are his weaknesses, and is he, by chance, fatally allergic to anything?"

"My boss isn't that easy to take out, Mister."

"Doubting," Voldemort said in an annoying singsong voice.

"Only way you're my boss is if you're the President of the United States."

Voldemort's ears perked up, in slight resemblance to a Chihuahua, who'd just heard it's name 'Dumbo' being called.

"Mm_hmmmm_… And how would I, say, _become _the Resident of the United Plates?"

"Run for office. There's an election going on right now."

"Uh-_huhhhhhhh_..."

The Dark Lord nodded, thinking. Then he ran inside to where Belatrix and Snape were counseling Lucius over missing his all new favorite show, Flipping Out.

"Death Eaters," he proclaimed loudly, and was about to continue when he was interrupted by Snape's severe cough. Voldemort sighed. "Death Eaters _and Soy-Reincarnation Fasters_," he intoned, "We're going on a road trip!"

"Yes!" cried Lucius.

"But I get car sick," moaned Snape.

"Where to?" Belatrix asked.

"America!" cried the Dark Lord.

"Woot!" went Lucius.

"_But they don't have any tea!_" went Snape.

"You can't _drive _there!" went Belatrix.

"Shut up! We'll get there somehow!" went the Dark Lord.

"Sweet!"

"-just coffee, which is all black and smelly and-"

"Why?"

Voldemort grinned evilly. "All you need to know right now is the stuff you're going to be handing out on lawn signs, and that is '_VOTE FOR VOLDY_!'"

Belatrix and Lucius exchanged glances.

"-_my tea!!" _sobbed Snape.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

AN: Yes, I am quite aware of my inability to spell "Teletubies". But in my defense, spell check couldn't do it either. And also, my sincere apologies for the break in character on Lucius's part. It won't happen again.


	2. Broadcasts and Desicions

AN: Yup. Fast and furious. That's how I like my chappies posted. And I bet that's how _you_ guys like your chappies too. So here's an up-date.

To people just tuning into my Voldy fics… there are some jokes from my old fics. Go back and read them to fully understand the humorous aspects of this story. You'll wish you had.

Your loss. Enjoy!

**Hyrax Headquarters, Washington DC, United States of America**

Lucius held up three fingers.

"You're on in three…" he said, tucking a finger down.

"Two…" Another finger.

"_One_," he mouthed.

Lights flashed on as the camera swiveled to focus on a black-robed man.

Voldemort flashed his customary "veins-popping-out-of-the-neck" smile, guaranteed to scar infants and small children with a fear of clowns for the rest of their lives.

Taped on the left side of his chest was a clumsy American flag drawn with crayons, sporting only 24 and half stars and five stripes, _one_ of which was horizontal.

"Hello, my fellow American citizens! My name is Lor – _Senator_ Voldemort, and I'd like to talk to you about a very important decision!"

The broad smile stuck fast as Snape hastened to change the cue cards behind Lucius.

"To run for president! That's right! I'm tired of all the lies in the government! And _you_ point finger to camera should be tired too of them! That's why you should vote for _me_ point finger towards self!"

Simultaneously offset Belatrix, Snape, and Lucius smacked their foreheads.

The live feed cut off, and the commercial was ended with a picture of an American flag flapping in the wind and the words "_Voldemort '08_"

The set lights died as the house ones went up. The Dark Lord made a beeline for the doughnut table.

"I think that went rather well," he said brightly, a pastry upon each finger.

Snape coughed. "If you say so, my lord…"

"I do. I get the feeling the American people are easier to sucker in than a bucket of leeches to Bella Swan."

"Eugh," Snape said. "Sir, that was one of the worst analogies of all time! It barely even made sense!"

"Doesn't Bella have delicious tasting blood?"

The SoyReincarnation Faster felt a twinge of pity for the clueless Dark Lord. He really ought to suck up his manliness and just _read_ the Twilight series.

"Well, analogy aside, I have to admit, I had a bit of fun! I think the limelight really likes me." Voldemort shrugged modestly as he flipped his imaginary hair over his shoulder.

Snape had seen how the Dark Lord's bald spot had caused a reflection onto the back to the set.

Biting the inside of his cheek, the minion nodded.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Lucius was reclining in the Hyrax Headquarters. He nodded appreciatively. Gucci and leather. Best of all, satellite TV. Fabulous.

He was just about to pop a seltzer water when there was a rather incessant pounding at the door.

Muttering something about Americans and they're inability to use doorbells, he rose and swept across the plush carpeting to answer it.

"Who iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit?" he called, singsong, while peering through the peephole.

A large, slightly distorted man with sunglasses was glaring on the opposite side.

Lucius groaned as he heaved open the door. He'd had enough of big, burly, angry government officials.

"I need to speak with Mister Voldemort… Voldemort," the big, burly, angry governmental official said.

The Death Eater shrugged and told the man, "Straight ahead, down the stairs, second door on the left."

The man, followed by two other men whom Lucius hadn't seen because they were standing just out of view on either side of the door, followed.

_Creepers_, Lucius thought as he tagged after them.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Mister Voldemort Voldemort?"

The Dark Lord glanced up from his leaning tower of pastries. "That's me!"

The leading man coughed. "Mister Voldemort, where were you born?"

"England!" he proclaimed, despite Snape shaking his head urgently and drawing a finger across his neck. "Why do you ask?"

"You've got to be born in the United States to run for president," the man replied gruffly. "You'll have to forfeit the race."

The Dark Lord scowled. Snape approached the conversation.

"I'm afraid it's true, my lord." The SoyReincarnation Faster said. "And the readers don't exactly understand it either. It just doesn't make sense. Why would you run for office in America? And what is the IRS doing in the UK anyways?"

Voldemort thought for a moment. Then he said,

"You _will_ allow me to run."

The three men blinked simultaneously.

"This is not the candidate you're looking for."

The leading man turned to the other two.

"This is not the candidate you're looking for," he said

Casually, Voldemort flicked his hand.

"Move along."

"Move along," the man repeated. They left.

Snape was in tears.

"Sir!" he cried. "That doesn't make any sense either! You can't just steal from another fandom, it's not right!"

"Calm down, Minion," Voldemort sighed. "This is a satire, after all."

"What about the IRS?"

"What about the _UPS_, hm? Why don't the readers care about _that_?"

"_Well they're going to __**NOW**__!_" Snape shrieked. He raced towards the in-studio audience.

"Don't listen to him," he said, with the air of one who is missing a few screws to the head, "Everything fits! It all works, it all makes sense!" He stopped to take a few, quick breathes and giggled shakily. "No-o-o-o-o-o-o-o need to pa-a-a-a-n-n-i-i-i-i-i-c-c-c…"

The SoyReincarnation Faster then took the opportunity to pass out.

Voldemort looked at the body for a moment.

Ah well.

"And now… to my campaign!" The Dark Lord cackled evilly, and swept off.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Meanwhile…**

**Somewhere with Internet access…**

Hermione gasped. Harry and Ron followed in suit.

The boys sat for a moment, then realized they didn't know what they were gasping about.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, looking at Hermione with her fancy iMac Pro.

"V – V – Voldem – m - mort is – is -"

"Spit it out, already!" Ron yelled, the impatient one in the batch.

"Voldemort is running for president!"

Silence. One minute. Two. Finally…

"… We have a president?"

"No, you idiot," Hermione said, being the good friend that she was. "Of _America_."

"_Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_…" Harry and Ron said in unison.

A pause. One minute… three…

"… And we care, why?"

"Because, genius, that position holds tons of power." She gasped again. "I'll bet this is another plot for world domination!"

"We've got to stop him!" Harry said, pounding his fist into his palm.

"But how?" quailed Ron.

Defiant, Harry rose. "There's only one way," he said in a low voice, melodrama dripping like sap from his words.

"We're going to run against him."

"_Gasp_!" went Hermione and Ron.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

AN: Ahahaha… The trio lives! Now I just need to bring back Postman and Ted, and the story will be complete! Long chapter, by the way. You can thank me in reviews. XD


	3. Slogans and Such

AN: I have to admit... only a few chapters in, and I'm realizing this fic is going to take a lot of research and wit. Luckily, I have Google. And Terry Pratchett, the Supreme Ruler of Writing That Mocks Reality. Also known as Wit. So delve, good readers, into one of the most complex fics I have ever written! I love you too!

(Note: for anyone who hasn't caught on, Kulan and Hyrax are the political parties. Another Note: Stephan Colbert tried to get on the ballot for both parties, Democratic and Republican.)

Enjoy!

...

**Kulan Headquaters, Washington DC, USA**

"So you think you can run against that new Hyrax candidate, just like that?"

Harry Potter, undercover-wizard hero, glanced over his black sunglasses.

"Yup," he said.

The leader of the National Kulan Association scoffed. "Stephen Colbert wasn't allowed on the ballot. What makes you think you're better than _him_?"

Harry had to bite his tongue to keep him from saying "because I'm… _Harry Potter_."

Instead, he snapped his fingers, and both Ron and Hermione (dressed as Secret Service officials) opened their chrome cases. Within were bundles of money.

The leader inspected the tender.

"These are English pounds," he said, peering at a five note carefully.

"No they're not," Harry said, flicking his undercover-wand casually. The tender turned into dollar bills.

"Alright," the leader said, taking the cases. He glanced once more at Harry. "You're _how _old?"

"42," Harry said easily.

"Checks out. Well, Mr…Rettop… go right ahead. Support your party's name with pride!"

"Oh," Harry/Rettop nodded. "I will. I will…"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Hyrax Headquaters...**

The table was very long, considering only four people had to sit at it.

At the head, Voldemort reclined in his favorite revolving chair from Bill Gates. About 20 yards down the table to his right sat Lucius. Across Lucius was Belatrix.

40 yards down was Snape, a mere speck on the stained oak horizon.

"Okay people-" the Dark Lord began.

"Sir?

"What is it, Lucius?" Voldemort asked, irritated about being interrupted

"I don't think Snape can hear you." Lucius pointed the black, greasy speck, which seemed to be waving it's arms.

The Dark Lord huffed. Snape could be so whiney sometimes…

"Tell him to listen better."

Lucius shrugged and yelled the message to the Snape.

"_Focus_ people," Voldemort said sternly. "We need a slogan for this campaign."

"Like what?"

"Something catchy…"

"Vote for Voldy!" Lucius suggested.

"No, too obvious."

"I like Voldy?"

"That even doesn't rhyme."

"Well _nothing_ rhymes with Voldy," Belatrix complained.

"How 'bout an alliteration?" Lucius suggested.

"Example." Voldemort commanded.

"Tippecanoe and Voldy too!"

"... That's not an alliteration," the Dark Lord said. "The word 'and' doesn't start with a 'T'."

Down, far down, the speck was bouncing about as if it had an idea. Because it lacked in a diaphragm, it was ignored.

"Make a promise to them!" Belatrix offered. "Like: a chicken in every cauldron, a broom in every garage."

"L-_a-_me." Voldemort said. "It's got to be something the American people will remember and say, 'gee, that was a great president.'"

Belatrix and Lucius exchanged glances.

"'Leave no child behind'?" Belatrix said tentatively.

"'It's morning again in America'?" Lucius guessed.

Another glance, between the two.

"'I am not a crook'?" They both hazarded at once.

There was a moment of silence.

Complete, utter silence.

... Say for the slight thumping noise as the speck leapt into the air repeatedly.

"That sounds like it came from a very honest, selfless person," Voldemort noted. "But I may want something more original. Something with spark. Pop. _Pizazz_."

Finally, Snape got up and ran the length of the table.

"Sir..." he panted. "What about... one of your... favorite sayings?"

"Like Avada Kedavra?"

"No ..." the Soy Reincarnation Faster's features glowed as he remembered, far back, to that day when he had been stabbed by a pair of scissors and knocked unconscious by a wand... and the cause of that incident...

"Pimp'n!" he cried jubilantly.

"Um."

"Er."

"Where the hell did you get_ that_?" Voldemort demanded. He looked down at his laptop computer, which had been sitting in front of him the entire time with a large sticker plastered to the back of the screen.

He said, "Oh."

Because the sticker read, "PIMP'N."

The Dark Lord's eyes grew wide. "Pimp'n..." he whispered. "That's it! That's my slogan!"

Lucius popped champagne. They had this election was in the bag.

...

**Meanwhile...**

**Kulan Headquaters...**

Harry nodded supremely as he watched the yard signs being printed off. He had this election in the bag.

...

AN: Dun – dun – duhhhhhhhhhhhh! (that was dramatic music, in case you couldn't quite tell.) Ooo... suspenseful! But short, I know. But suspenseful!


	4. The Public and the Press

AN: Introducing a new character. Originally called Common Folk Bloke, but changed to Old Folk Bloke for overall convenience, this man is the latest edition to my OCC cast. He probably won't stick around too long, but he serves a purpose...

Sadly, this installment may not be entirely coherent, seeing as I have been off and on of a fever nearing 102 degrees. I thought I might as well post it anyways...

Oh, plus there's a footnote. But FF is irksome like that, and won't allow me to use and asterisk. So it's a number sign. I trust this will not interrupt your reading experience too much.

Enjoy!

**Middle (of) America**

Now, Old Folk Bloke wasn't a city man. Even as a countryman, he was a bit of an extremist. Most rural people ate oatmeal for breakfast. Old Folk Bloke ate oatmeal for _lunch _too. He had newly gathered eggs for dinner, and freshly shot cow for dessert.

This man was not an elitist. He was considered to be Middleclass America. And as all candidates know, appeal to the Middleclass.

Old Folk Bloke's father also worked in a mill, but that's beside the point.

Currently, Old Folk Bloke was just finishing up a fulfilling day in the butchery. As he left, he spat on his hands and rubbed his palms together to clean off the blood.

That's sanitary that is, he thought.

Old Folk Bloke went inside and, for lack of nothing better to do, decided to futz around with that old glass boxy thinger.

Eventually he unearthed a plastic rectangle with rubber buttons on it. The remote and TV were outdated by about 20 years, but Old Folk Bloke neither knew nor cared.

By pressing each button in a randomized order the glass screen eventually flickered on...

And Old Folk Bloke came face to face with the first aired campaign add.

"It's 23:00, and your children are fast asleep... there's a phone ringing at Parliament..."

Old Folk Bloke scrunched his already scrunched face.

"How the blazes can it be 23:00? That time don't exist, dagnabbit! And what the heck is Parliament? Lordy, this here candidate's a nut job!"

...1,500 miles away, Snape pulled off his headphones tat were tuned into the electronic listening device planted in Old Folk Bloke's small farmhouse.

"Sir," he called, "I've got good news and bad news."

"Bad news first," the Dark Lord proclaimed, knowing that the good news coming last would make the bad news seem better, an age old technique.

"We need to do some more fact checking on the American government."

"Damn. Who was assigned to doing that?"

The two glanced over to a desk with a computer. Ted the llama was lying face down on the floor below the desk, a cigarette sticking from beneath him.

"Not again..." moaned Snape.

Voldemort ignored the half-dead llama in his campaign headquarters. If you ignored things long enough, they'd go away.

"The good news?"

Snape picked up his headphones and listened to the recording again.

"_This hear candidate's a nut job!"_

The SoyReincarnation Faster swallowed, and tried to think up a way to put a good spin on Old Folk Bloke's all too truthful statement.

"Er... well, the American people feel like they really understand you..."  
...

Harry Potter was preparing for his first interview. It would be broadcast nationally, which was strange to him because in England nationally was pretty much the same as locally.

But never mind that. Ron had secured him a spot with one of the most prestigious news hosts around.

"Mr. Stewart is ready any time you are," an assistant said, sticking his head into Harry's dressing room.

Oh yes. Jon Stewart. This would get his campaign what they called the 'Stewart Bump.' That was promotion if he ever knew.

Harry left the dressing room and went into the studio, just as Jon introduced him.

"Please, welcome my guest, Mister... Rettop, the running candidate for the Kulan party!'

Stewart stood to meet Harry as he stepped onto the set. Harry couldn't help but notice how short the man seemed to be...

Harry and Stewart were just about to sit down and begin the interview when Ron came panting in.

"Nor!" Harry hissed, "What are you doing?"

Ron looked confused for a moment, then remembered with a look of recognition that 'Nor' was his pseudonym. A clever pseudonym at that.

"Sir," Ron managed, "E ...no ...im ...reh... um... yeah, _her_..."

Harry rolled his eyes. They needed a better pseudonym for Hermione. The whole 'name-spelled-backwards' thing took too long to figure out.

"_Yes_? What about our... foreign exchange student with an incredibly awkward and difficult name?"

"She... uh..." By now Ron was realizing he was standing in front of a live audience, and began to look like a ripe tomato with orange colored leaves. "Uh... she did some research about this television show and... um... what's so funny?"

The two undercover wizards turned to Jon Stewart, who was trying to suppress laughter and sounding more like a testosterone charged chipmunk being stepped on.

"Nothing," he managed between low squeaks.

"Ohhh-kaaaaay..." Harry said. "What is it, R – er... _Nor_?"

"Well, apparently this show isn't exactly a _news_ show..."

"Oh, what makes you say that?"

Ron glanced at the prompter. Just disappearing was the previous topic on the show, John Oliver and Samantha Bee's segment on the number one cause of death with children in America: cupcakes.

"Just a hunch."

...

Unfortunately for the trio, Jon Stewart's program was being broadcasted live across America.#

So Voldemort, lounging in the... lounge, saw it all.

"Minion!" he shrieked, at a surprisingly high pitch for a man, "Lucius! Belatrix!"

The aforementioned Death Eaters and SoyReincarnation Faster raced into the room. Ted, who was left out, but probably wouldn't have come if called anyways, remained on the floor where he last collapsed.

"_Harry Potter is running for president!_" Voldemort squeaked. It looked as though it required quite a lot of air, but most of the sound was committed to registers deaf to humans. Dogs, on the other hand, came running from as far as Pennsylvania.

Silence. One minute. Four...

"Wait," Snape said. "Are you saying that _more than one_ person can run for president of the United States?"

"That's why it's called a _race_," Belatrix muttered, leaving the room in case all the stupid in the room would put her IQ at risk.

"Apparently!" Voldemort squealed, ignoring his one disobedient Death Eater.

They waited for another decision from their Dark Lord.

"Well we won't let him stop us! This campaign is_ full speed ahead_!"

...

# Because of this and Stewart's tendency to swear for emphasis, all words beginning with 'fu' and 'sh' were automatically bleeped out. Understandably, this made watching the expressions of some of the more PG supportive viewers while Stewart said, "Shy Shelly surely sells sea shells by the salty sea shore," quite entertaining.

...

AN: I know, I know. For those Jon Stewart fans, you'll know that _Rob Riggle_ did the segment on cupcakes. Anyways, the next chappie should be more on track, and make more sense.


End file.
